


Mornings

by cowboykylux



Series: Pale x Reader Vignettes [10]
Category: Burn This - Wilson
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 23:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20665334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylux/pseuds/cowboykylux
Summary: "Those are the normal days, those days should be enough.They are enough. He tells himself that they have to be."





	Mornings

Pale’s an early riser, always has been and always will be. Even on rare days when he doesn’t have to work he’s still up at the crack of dawn. 

Some days he wakes up in his own apartment, like he should – those are the normal days.

On the normal days – what the fuck is normal anyway? – he barges into your apartment unannounced and unexpected, he knows you’re waitin’ for him there anyway, knows you ain’t got anywhere to be yet. 

On the normal days he wrangles you into his arms, manhandles you up onto the counter and shakes his head at your cooking.

“Don’t know why the fuck you even fuckin bother anymore with this, how many times i gotta tell you i’m the fuckin cook between us, huh? Just sit there and look pretty sweetheart let the fuckin professional show you how its done.”He’ll say, you smilin’ at him, kissin’ at him.

He likes to show off, wants to impress you. God he doesn’t know what the fuck you did to him to make him want to impress you.

But it works, he can tell.

It works, you’re impressed.

He can taste how impressed you are on his tongue when he kisses you, shoves it down your throat.

On the normal days, he fucks you right on the counter while the eggs are scrambling, while the toast is in the fuckin’ toaster, while the coffee’s brewing. He’ll wrap your legs around his hips and fuck into you, bite at your neck, call you his whore and come in you before he even has to flip the fucking pancakes. 

On the normal days, he slings you over his shoulder and dumps you on the bed, yanks you down by your ankle and eats you out until you cry, until you’re ready to pass the fuck back out again. He likes the way you squeeze his head with your thighs, he likes using his strength to press them down and move them however he wants. 

And then he leaves. 

Goes to work. Lets you do whatever the fuck you need to.

Those are the normal days, those days should be enough. 

They are enough. He tells himself that they have to be. 

But sometimes… sometimes he spends the night. 

And sometimes, when he wakes up at the crack of fucking dawn, it’s with you in his arms, his nose in your hair, his arms around you like a vice that you couldn’t get out of even if you fucking wanted to. 

You never seemed to want to. 

Sometimes when he stays, he’ll brush the hair out of your face. He’ll whisper soft things that scare the shit out of him, things you’ll never fucking hear because you’re still asleep.

Things like, “You got me real fucking good, you know that? Wrapped around your fucking finger, how’d you do that? I’d do any-fuckin-thing you asked, all you gotta do is ask. I’d burn down jersey if you wanted. I’d kill a man if you wanted. You got me good.”are whispered, too soft, so soft he doesn’t even fuckin think he’s saying them out loud.

But he does say them out loud, as he brushes your hair outta your face, and he doesn’t know, but you are awake, and you hear him. 

You never mention them, and he’s fucking grateful, doesn’t know what the fuck he’d do if you ever called him out on his bullshit.

Is it bullshit? What have you done to him?

Sometimes, he fucks you awake, gives you a good morning real cheeky-like. Sometimes he kisses you so much all over that you wake up smiling. You smile at him and your whole fuckin’ face lights up like the sun. He doesn’t know what to do with that smile. 

Sometimes, he pisses in your sink while you use the toilet, rolls his eyes when you bitch at him for it, he doesn’t want to leave you alone. 

He makes it up to you, he always makes it up to you. He doesn’t do any-fucking-thing that bad anyway. 

You put up with him anyway. He doesn’t know why. 

<strike>He knows why. </strike>

Sometimes, he’ll cook for you and bring you breakfast in bed, "It ain't fucking romantic," he’ll say, handing you a plate of fresh fruit and an omelette made with real cheese, not the sliced and packaged shit you keep around,"you fuckin slut with your windows open, can’t have the neighbors see your naked fuckin body walking back and forth to the kitchen – you keep fuckin smiling at me like that i’m gonna give you somethin to really fuckin think about."

He gives it to you anyway.

And then sometimes, sometimes sometimes sometimes, the rarest fucking times, he won’t leave.

He’ll take a morning bath with you, he’ll pull on some clean clothes with you, take you into the city – to a movie to a park to a museum whatever the fuck you want. Buy you whatever you want, not that you fuckin ever ask for anything anyway, other than to hold his fuckin hand. 

Sometimes he’ll stay with you all fucking day, talking about everything, talking about nothing, talking talking talking. A kiss or two, if he’s feeling jumpy. He’s always feeling jumpy. 

Sometimes he’ll stay. 

Because sometimes, mornings just ain’t enough. 


End file.
